"It is not mine," she replied. "Probably it's the other woman's." She held out her hand, the most symmetrical hand Harleston had ever seen.

"My letter, please, Mr. Harleston."

"I no longer have the letter," said Harleston.

"Then why did you--" she exclaimed; "but you can lay your hand on it?"

"I can lay my hand on it," he smiled--"whenever you convince me, or I ascertain, that the letter does not concern directly or indirectly the diplomatic affairs of the United States. You forget that was the concluding stipulation, Mrs. Clephane. Meanwhile the letter will not, you may feel a.s.sured, fall into the possession of the party who attempted to steal it from you."

"What does it all mean?" she asked, leaning forward. "Who beside France are the parties concerned?"

"It means that some nation is ready to take desperate chances to prevent your letter from reaching the French Amba.s.sador. What actuates it, whether to learn its contents or to prevent its present delivery, I naturally do not know." Then he laughed. "Would it interest you very much to learn, Mrs. Clephane, that I was visited last night by three men, who tried, at the point of the revolver, to force the letter from me?"

"You surely don't mean it!" she exclaimed.

And with this exclamation the last doubt in Harleston's mind of Mrs.

Clephane's having aught to do with the night attack vanished--and having acquitted her in that respect, there was scarcely any question as to the sincerity and truth of her tale.

As it has been remarked previously, Mrs. Clephane was very good to look at--and what is more to the point with Harleston, she looked back.

"I had all sorts of adventures, beginning with the cab of the sleeping horse, three crushed roses, a bit of lace, and a letter," he laughed; "and the adventures haven't yet ended, and they grow more interesting as they progress."

"They didn't get the letter?" she asked quickly.

"They got nothing but the trouble of getting nothing," he replied.

"Where is the letter now, Mr. Harleston--is it safe from them?"

There was a note of concern in her voice, and it puzzled him. What else did she know--or didn't she know anything? Was it only his habit in diplomatic affairs to doubt everything that was not undoubtable.

"The letter," he replied, "is with the expert of the State Department for translation."

"What language is it in?" she demanded.

"Cipher language--and a particularly difficult cipher it is. Can you help us out, Mrs. Clephane?"

"I can't, Mr. Harleston; I don't know anything about ciphers. And I told you the whole truth when I said that I neither knew what the envelope contained nor its purpose. What disturbs me is how to explain to the French Amba.s.sador the loss of the letter."

"Tell him the exact truth," said Harleston. "It would have been better possibly had you told him this morning."

"I thought you would return the letter to me," she replied.

"I likely should, had I seen you before I turned it over to the State Department. Now that it has pa.s.sed out of my hands, it is a matter for the Secretary to decide."

"But he will be advised by you!" she exclaimed.

"Advised, yes,--dominated, no. The only chance of the letter being returned to you, is that it does not affect this government."

"Diplomacy then is willing to stoop to any crime or to profit by any wrong?" she mocked.

"I am afraid I must admit the accusation. Everything is fair in love and war, you know--and diplomacy is only a species of war."

"Have I no redress for the outrage upon me, nor for the loss of the letter by reason of that outrage?"

"I'm afraid you'll find the wheels of justice very slow-moving--when they have to do with affairs diplomatic."

"But the letter, sir?"

"You must remember, Mrs. Clephane, that I found the letter in an abandoned cab."

"And now that you know to whom it belongs," she flashed, "you will not return it?"

"Because I can't! Which brings us back to where we started--and to dinner."

"I will not dine with you!"

"Then let me dine with you!"

"No!"

"Fix it any way you wish, only so that we dine together," he persisted.

"I've the cosiest little table reserved for us, and--"

"Mr. Harleston," the page was calling. "Mr. Harles--"

Harleston turned, and the boy saw him.

"Telephone, sir," said he, giving Harleston the call slip.

"Will you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Clephane?" Harleston asked, and hurried out--conscious all the while that Madeline Spencer and her companion were watching him.

"This is Police Headquarters, Mr. Harleston," came the voice over the wire. "Major Ranleigh wants to know if you will meet him at his office at ten o'clock tonight. The Major was called out suddenly or he would have telephoned you, himself!"

"I'll be on hand," Harleston replied, hung up the receiver, and hurried back.

As he entered the red-room, he shot a covert glance toward the place where Mrs. Spencer and her companion had been sitting.

They were gone!

"Yes! Yes!" said he under his breath, and turned toward the corner where he had left Mrs. Clephane.

Mrs. Clephane was gone.

IX

DECOYED